“Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. On that first occasion, the delay in locating the entrance to the secret passage meant that she had to wait until morning to make her search. I told him Valade had tried to borrow money off me and asked if he could vouch for the fellow. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. It was as though he were personally aggrieved. Another picture slid across her vision.
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